Moonlight streaked through the glass dome, pale and icy against the marble floor. It washed over Princess Agnes Viremont where she sat curled into herself on a velvet chaise, shoulders trembling, face blotched and streaked with furious tears.
Her hands clutched the hem of her night robe, as if it might unravel if she let go.
"He didn't even try to lie," she whispered, voice hoarse and shaking. "Didn't even pretend it wasn't because of her."
A crystal tumbler shattered on the hearth.
Queen Bellatrix Drakenfell stood beside the fire, one hand trembling. The flame danced higher behind her, as if it recognized the pulse of her fury.
"Of course it was because of her," Queen Bellatrix said, calm like poison. "That girl is the kind men think they are in love with. But they aren't thinking at all, letting their cock decide."
Agnes's chin snapped up. "She's not even beautiful." Her voice cracked. "Her hair looks like it should be washed in a stable. Her face—" she broke off, breath catching. "He looked at me like I was an afterthought."
Bellatrix walked slowly toward her, every step precise, controlled.
"She comes from the gutter," the Queen said coolly. "From chains. From filth. She was raised in the shadows and dragged herself into light not meant for her. You were born in it. You are royalty. You were raised for this throne. For him."
Agnes clenched her jaw. "He didn't care."
"No," Bellatrix said softly. "Because men are fools. All of them. I've seen it. I've lived it. My king married me out of duty. But his heart..."
Her voice turned brittle.
"His heart belonged to another. A weak, simpering woman who gave him nothing but a dream and a dead legacy."
She reached down and cupped Agnes's chin, forcing the girl's tear-soaked eyes to meet hers.
"I was humiliated once too. I watched from a throne while my husband ached for a ghost. But I did not cry on a chaise like a broken girl."
Agnes's eyes flared. "What would you have me do? Smile? Attend the war council while she sits next to him like a crowned goddess? While dragons bow to her?"
Bellatrix's lips curled into something feral. "No. I would have you win."
She released her and turned away, shoulders squared.
"She may have his attention. She may have a dragon bond. But that doesn't make her untouchable. She's untrained. Unpolished. Ignorant of court politics. She's likely illiterate and the type to whore herself to the highest bidder. She will make a fool of herself, just wait."
Agnes swallowed. The rage was returning. The good kind. Hot. Clean. Purposeful.
Bellatrix's voice was velvet wrapped in iron. "Let her shine. Let them all stare. But understand this: I will not let the fate of kingdoms hinge on some glowing orphan slut who couldn't tell a council decree from a dinner invitation."
The Queen turned fully now, gaze sharp enough to slice.
"You, Agnes, are the daughter of legacy. Of command. She will never understand what that means."
Agnes's breath steadied. Her tears dried.
"So don't fret, little lioness," Bellatrix said, stepping back into the fire's reach. "Let fate have its moment. Then we will end it."
She smiled. And it was not a kind smile.
"He will do as I say."
✦✦✦
The door slammed open with no warning. Queen Bellatrix swept in like a thunderstorm, her black silk robes trailing behind her like smoke.
"Good," she said sharply. "You both are here."
King Tiberon barely looked up from the sealed letters on his desk. Prince Dexmon, standing near the hearth with a goblet of untouched wine, tensed visibly.
"I assume this is not a social call," Tiberon said, tone dry.
Bellatrix's eyes were already on her son. "You cannot end things with the princess. Not like this."
Dexmon exhaled slowly, setting the goblet down with more force than necessary. "Mother—"
"No," she said, cutting him off with a raised hand. "You will listen. You've spent one afternoon with that girl. One. And now you are willing to throw away a royal alliance, centuries of political stability, and a woman who was born and trained to rule? Serena is seducing you. Think with your head, not your cock."
"I haven't even spoken to Serena about any of this," Dexmon said, taken aback by the aggressiveness of her words.
Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. "And yet here we are. The whole court's whispering. You've stopped seeing Agnes, already canceled engagements she was promised. Why do you care for a woman you don't know?"
Dexmon swallowed hard. The room went still.
Bellatrix tilted her head, voice silk over steel. "Don't answer. I know."
Tiberon raised a brow. Dexmon said nothing.
"Serena was not raised for this," Bellatrix continued, pacing now. "She was not trained to lead, or speak to councils, or broker treaties. Agnes was. She's endured the pageantry, the lessons, the expectations since birth. You know what Serena has endured? Dirt. Chains. Shadows. She doesn't belong in the light, not where you stand."
Dexmon finally looked up. "You're not being fair."
"Fair?" Bellatrix hissed. "Don't be foolish! If she's caught your eye, make her your mistress. Quiet. Useful. Invisible. She can be tucked away where no one important has to see her."
The air turned to glass.
Dexmon's mouth opened to shut it down, but Tiberon's voice cut through first.
"That," the King said calmly, "is the kind of choice that breeds bloodshed. Not loyalty."
Bellatrix turned to him sharply.
"Agnes deserves the truth. She deserves a mate who sees her. Who chooses her," Tiberon continued. "Keeping her around while pining for another will only make her your enemy. And Serena, whatever you may think of her, is not a woman who tucks neatly into shadows. She won't be a mistress. I can tell you that from our short interaction."
Bellatrix's lips curled. "You would have him crown a girl with no allies, no title, no lineage?"
"I would have him choose clarity," Tiberon said. "And not turn a moment of confusion into a lifetime of resentment."
The silence hung thick for several heartbeats.
Bellatrix turned slightly, voice low and pointed. "She would be a mistress in a heartbeat. I know her type. She would be protected. Not chained. So why not formalize the inevitable?"
Tiberon didn't flinch. "She would be protected because she is Velkaris's bonded. With Dexmon. That makes her sacred to our people. So no, Bellatrix—she does not have to whore herself for protection. She already has it."
The tension between them hit the floor like shattered crystal.
"Fine," Bellatrix snapped. "When she falters, the blood will be on your hands. Have you also considered that King Viremont may want his whore back?"
Dexmon stood so fast the chair scraped against stone. "Do not call her that, Mother."
Bellatrix's smile was all venom. "Lovely. Infatuation has made you irrational."
"She's right," Tiberon said flatly.
Both heads snapped toward him.
"That is why we need to get her and Elara initiated into our pack immediately," he continued, voice steady.
Bellatrix flushed. "You would do that before Princess Agnes?"
Tiberon turned to face her fully. "Princess Agnes is already a member of a pack—and the princess of one. The only way she would be initiated into ours is because of marriage. Serena and Elara however, are currently packless. That status makes them vulnerable."
The Queen's eyes narrowed to slits. Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"Fine. Bind the little white rat in ribbons and call her sacred. But don't come crying to me when she slips a dagger between your ribs and mounts your throne like a prize."
"You will continue to have lunch with Agnes," Bellatrix said sharply, circling Dexmon like a hawk. "You won't end things. Not like this. It dishonors her. If not as your queen, then for long-term diplomacy."
Dexmon's jaw ticked.
Finally, he nodded once, the motion tight. "Fine."
Bellatrix's shoulders eased, just barely, though her eyes still flared cold. "Good," she said coolly. "At least one of you still thinks."
Tiberon, calm as ever, poured himself a drink without glancing up. "Let's see how long that lasts."
She spun on her heel, robes flaring, and stormed from the room with thunder cracking in her wake.
✦✦✦
Agnes was waiting in the corridor.
Bellatrix's expression answered the question before she could ask it.
"He'll see you tomorrow," the Queen said. "Noon. The south terrace. Wear the green gown. He always liked you in green."
Agnes exhaled. It wasn't victory. But it wasn't defeat.
Not yet.